


More Like Real Life

by Cannes



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), But It Might Help, CPS, Domestic Violence, F/F, F/M, Foster Care, Growing Pains, High School AU, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Mentions of neglect, just because you say you're sorry doesn't mean you deserve to be forgiven, mentions of abuse, shitty parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29905653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cannes/pseuds/Cannes
Summary: You don't piss-off Eric Cartman. It was just common sense. It might as well have been a fucking bylaw written just for South Park residences.But Kenny just can't seem to shut his mouth.ORKenny turns eighteen and all the shit hits the fan, courtesy of one Eric Cartman.When his home-life gets flipped on its head, will he be able to pick up the pieces? Or is he just destined to live up to the McCormick name?
Relationships: Eric Cartman/ Redemption Arc, Karen McCormick & Kenny McCormick, Kenny McCormick/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Kyle Broflovski & Stan Marsh, Stan Marsh/Wendy Testaburger
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11





	More Like Real Life

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING** Contains implied and explicit descriptions of domestic abuse, alcoholism, drug addiction, recreational drug use, and homophobic language. 
> 
> Please read at your own discretion, and under the advisement that this is written for an 18+ audience.

On the afternoon of Kenny McCormick’s eighteenth birthday, a momentous occasion that he had nearly forgotten all about, Stanly Marsh, one of his longest and closest friends, punched Eric Cartman square in the gut for him. It was one of the most precious gifts the blond boy had ever received.

To be clear, it wasn’t that Kenny couldn’t have very well balled his fist and put what little body weight he possessed into a quick jab to defend himself. Because he very well could have, thank you. He grew up having playground brawls just for the hell of it; existed for fifteen years with an older brother who gave a mean wedgie for little else than the simple provocation of existing.

It was moreso the fact that Stan had cracked on Kenny’s behalf, and much sooner than his own abundance of patients would have ever allowed. Not to mention that they hadn’t really been considered friends since middle school. In fact, in the last few years the formerly tightknit group (of which Eric Cartman had once had a key role in, too) had been reduced to nothing more than the occasional too-cool, douche-bag adolescent head nod in the hallway.

It had merely been by some unfortunate coincidence that found Kenny stashing his smokes in his locker at the precise moment that Cartman had strolled around the corner, bag of Arby’s clutched in his gloved hand. Or, maybe it was something more akin to strange happenstance that could be credited for the fact that Stan (popular Stanly Marsh, South Park varsity quarterback Stan Marsh) had been on his way back from the nurses’ office after a nasty tackle at that very same moment. But what was some serious divine intervention was that Kyle Broflovski had exited the boy’s bathroom, looking a little worse for wear, red hair flopping carelessly over his pale forehead and to cover his green eyes, just to stop short of running into Stan as Stan stopped short to stare at Cartman, who had frozen, stock-still, to squint at Kenny himself.

“Well, shit,” Cartman had said, dumbstruck.

It was a sentiment that they all agreed on.

Not that their friendship had ended badly, because it hadn’t. Not even with Cartman, who was more of a shit than any of them cared to admit, and even if they had been more than OK with telling the same to Cartman’s face as kids.

Childhood friendships just had a habit of wearing thin over the years. Changes in class schedules; hobbies; social circles; life goals…

It was hard to keep an interest in playing pretend and throwing stolen tires into Stark’s Pond forever.

Life always, eventually, moved on.

Rarely did it ever do a complete three-hundred and sixty degree turn right back to a feeling of being all of ten again and stuck in the fourth grade.

And, just like back in the fourth grade, it had fallen onto Stan to take the lead. “Hey,” he had said, giving an oddly timid wave that made it to about the height of his sternum before the football star obviously thought better of it. He had let his hand flop uselessly back to his side, clearing his throat with more self-consciousness than someone with his popularity should have possessed.

Kyle was quick to the up take. Casually, turning to Stan with a quick, “Hey, dude," before bumping knuckles with the taller black haired boy, as if on auto-piolet.

The duo had kept in contact with each-other more than with Kenny or Cartman. Not really to any fault of their own. They just had more classes together; more similarly situated social settings to make it difficult to drift away completely. What, with Kyle being on the basketball team, and with Stan having at least one AP class in in advanced Chemistry. The two were able to keep in direct contact, no problem. 

Kenny wasn’t entirely sure what Cartman was up to, nowadays. He was quieter, he knew as much. It was hard _not_ to notice the absence of Eric Cartman antics plaguing the school. He saw him bounce all over the cafeteria, always going from table to table like he was the fucking student-body president, or some shit. But, really, if he had to speculate, Kenny was pretty sure that Eric was just drifting along like a discarded piece of flotsam, much like himself.

And if that didn’t serve as a depressing enough thought, to lump himself together with fucking Cartman, Kenny wasn’t sure he had a clear understanding of depression.

Even with the arrival of the other two boys, Cartman hadn’t taken his eyes off Kenny, not even to turn his squint onto Stan or Kyle; or when Kenny had averted his own attention to close his locker, stuffing his cigarettes in his coat pocket instead of storing them away and off his person; he knew he was about to need them if Eric Cartman had him locked onto him as a target.

By the time he turned back to notice Eric still watching him with beady eyes, it was almost unsettling; like watching an old relic piece of machinery come back to life after years of disuse. That should have been a warning to him to back the fuck up and haul ass down in the opposite direction, but instead Kenny had just kept the same suspicious level of eye contact until Cartman snapped his fingers, thick index isolating Kenny under the harsh fluorescents.

They all jumped in surprise at the motion, Kenny included. Not because Cartman was particularly intimidating (though, he was still pretty big. Not as big as when they were kids, having grown out of some baby fat in his face, but still about fifty or more pounds heavier than Kenny hinself. The motion had just been so sudden, and it echoed off the lockers with the distinct promise for trouble.

Instead of some bullshit, though, Cartman wagged his finger knowingly. “It’s your birthday today,” he said at Kenny, not to him. Almost like an accusation for something that you knew a person couldn’t help, but that still bothered you, nonetheless.

Kenny went slack jaw and silent for all of ten second, silently processing this revelation and doing the mental math himself, and, well… Shit. Cartman had been right, because he knew the day before was when that stupid Lit essay had been due (and that he had conveniently forgotten all about) and that had been March 21st.

At the tenth second, just as Cartman's eyes got that shit-eating glint to them, the one where you knew something or someone was about to get either literally or metaphorically fucked, did he look to the other guys briefly, and then with an emotionless tune, said plainly to Eric, “Yeah.” Because he did _not_ want that asshole to know that he had forgotten that it was his own birthday.

Or, worse still, for the other boy to draw the unsettling revelation that he, Eric fucking Cartman, was the only one to have remembered. 

Kyle recovered faster than Stan, probably because Stan was still grimacing like he should remember all of his childhood friend’s birthday and personally sing to them at mid-night. “Oh, shit. That’s right,” he had said, giving Kenny a lop-sided smile that stretched the freckles on his nose. “Happy birthday, man.”

“Thanks,” Kenny found himself saying, again, without much enthusiasm.

Stan recovered, albeit a little morose and with a guilty laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he said, “Guess I’m the only none-adult in the group now.”

It seemed weird for Stan to still refer to them as a group, but he let it slide in favor of letting off a joke of his own to show the jock that everything was cool. “Kyle won’t get you any cigarettes or lotto tickets, but I’ll hook you up, Stan.” 

For some reason, Cartman was still looking crossed between malice and something that, had he not known the other boy for as long as he had, Kenny might have chalked up to a look of hurt. The strange combo disappeared before it could get too weird, and was replaced with a sneer, because he was never one to be up-staged in a crowd. Cartman turned to Kenny, and with the same look of vicious contempt. “Do the McCormicks even celebrate birthdays? Or holidays, for that matter?” On cue to Kyle’s groan, Eric latched on to elaborated the point no one asked him to make, “I mean, your family is so poor, what’s the point?”

“It doesn’t cost anything to celebrate a birthday, shit head,” Kyle had reprimanded between clenched teeth.

Stan had nudged him, a silent warning to not start any shit, most likely. Ha. Then to Eric he said, “You skip class?” He motioned to the bag gripped in Cartman’s hands as a diversion of topic.

Stan had always been like that, though. First to try and avoid a fight by trying to skirt around it, instead. But, by damn, he sure as hell would be one of the last one standing if it came to blows. Kenny had always liked that about him. He appreciated his lack of violent tendencies, though they made it hard to understand Stan, sometimes.

If the look on Cartman’s face was anything to go by, just staring at Stan like he wasn’t processing the other teen fully, he wasn’t alone. Eventually, after a decent pause, Cartman just looked down to his own hand, shrugging. “Nah. Had a dentist appointment.”

Kyle, on the other hand, had always been the first one to push too hard too fast. If Stan was the clean-up guy, Kyle was the one making the mess. Well, after Cartman, that is. The dude was just a light away from loosing his fuse at nearly every moment, which was more on par to what Kenny was used to.

“All that shit talk finally give you an infection or something?” Kyle had snapped back.

And _that_ should have really been the warning call. The alarm to let them all know that danger was quickly approaching. _Abortabortabort_ …

None of the boys moved. Par for the course behavior for Kyle and Eric. It was actually surprising that they had managed to tolerate each other for so long in elementary school for as long as they had.

Cartman had sneered, something ugly and vicious. “Ha, ha. Funny, _Kahl_. Did you get a sense of humor for your bar mitzvah or something?”

Kyle let his hands drop to his side, and Stan started looking nervous. Kenny, for his part, just looked between the two, silently preparing himself to watch the impending tennis match of insults.

“I’ve always had a sense of humor. Unlike you, who has to rely on cheap pot-shots,” Kyle had said between clenched teeth.

Eric spread his arms wide, doing a one-eighty motion around the empty hallway, like a presenter about to announce some side-show, before he stopped on Kyle in an over the top, open-hand display. “Our boy has jokes now, too!”

Kyle took a step closer to Eric, and Stan reached out to grab a hand-full of his back-pack, before stepping up next to the short red-head, giving him a serious side-eye that made Kenny flinch a little, too.

The quarterback cleared his throat, trying to save the interaction instead of just letting it go. “Are you guys going to the game tonight?”

Eric and Kyle’s stare-down didn’t let up. Kenny wondered, briefly, if they were going to really have it out in the middle of the senior hallway, like good old times.

Instead, Kyle deflated, marginally, like taking a rip from a helium balloon. “I have homework,” he had said, tone clipped and wary.

Damn. Not that Kenny particularly enjoyed his elementary school friends fighting one another, but he had enough sick curiosity for how much Kyle could pummel Eric into the lockers. “I just have work-work,” he had said cheerily, despite the disappointment.

Eric had puffed up again. “I’m going,” he told Stan. They all turned towards Eric fully because, well, Eric never had much of an interest in sports before. Not since their failed stint in little league. And the brief period in which Eric had wanted to be a NASCAR driver did _not_ count, thanks. “I go to every game,” he had clarified for them all, clearly getting some kind of satisfaction from their evident surprise.

Kenny himself hadn’t been to a game since Freshman year. Mostly as a vain attempt to keep in contact with Stan, who had just been getting into football back then. It was a short lived venture for Kenny, and now he usually just went to score a free hit or two from the emo kids smoking under the bleachers.

Judging by Stan’s cocked head and disbelief, he was either severely confused about Eric being at every game, or by the fact that he hadn’t realized before. “Really?”

“Someone has to cheer for the other team,” Eric said, cocky and chest puffed.

Ah, shit…

Kenny couldn’t help it. Really. Eric set him-up, intentionally or not, he knew. Kid just said shit and never realized the sideways implications. Not that the now eighteen-year old Kenny should find said unintentional implication so funny, but it was just so… Well, Eric.… He had let the snort-laugh escape through his nose, wet and laden with too much phlegm from the cigarette smoke still lodged in his lungs. Eric zoned in on it, on _Kenny_ , like a predator to a lost little lamb (not that Kennny typically referred to himself like a lost little lamb, but, well…). He stared at him, and then realization dawned, slowly across Eric’s mismatched eyes; first within his blue one, then to the brown.

Color rushed to the other boy’s round cheeks, and, if possible, his squint narrowed even more. “I don’t know why you’re laughing, fag,” he had said, all joking tone gone from his voice.

That’s all it had taken for the mood to instantly sour. Any pretenses of a friendly chit-chat with long-time friends gone, letting the door slam shut behind it, just like that.

“Dude, chill,” Stan had tried, looking from Eric to Kenny, almost like he was conflicted about who to jump in front of first.

And maybe it was because Eric just didn’t scare him, like, at all. Or maybe it was really just a lack of self-preservation, but Kenny pushed on the open wound. “I’m laughing because you’ve been sticking your foot in your big-ass mouth for years. Guess some things just never change.”

“Guess some things never do, since you’re still poor and a-a faggot, fag.”

He should have shut up. He knows that. He knew it then, in the moment. Stan and Kyle both knew it, too. But he just couldn’t help it. He accepted that he would have to take the tongue lashing that came from his comment before snorting, pulling a face of disgusted disappointment. “Your comebacks have gotten worse, though.”

Eric took two steps towards him, finger back to pointing at Kenny. “Are you asking for me to kick your ass, _Kinny_?” he asked him, laminating his words by drawing out the use of his name like a taunt. “Is that how you get off?” he continued, eyeing Kenny up and down critically, cocking his metaphorical gun and locking it onto the tall blond’s head. Kenny didn’t so much as flinch, so Eric took the shot. “Too many years of daddy taking the belt to you that you’ve gotten a taste for it?”

Poor Stan, Kenny thought. The guy looked so panicked and offended on Kenny’s behalf that it had warmed a small pit within the blond’s stomach.

Not that Kenny himself was overtly offended by the comment. In fact, he wasn’t offended at all. He'd overheard worse. 

“Dude!” Stan said, features going slack.

Kyle’s expression, meanwhile, turned sour, like he’d just sucked down a lemonhead. “Hey, man. Not cool.”

It had always been a Do Not Talk about subject between them. Sure, Eric could take pot shots at Kenny’s upbringing, his house, his parents, pretty much every aspect of Kenny’s home-life. Same went for the other boys. But never, not once, did the subject of physical abuse come up. They were kids back then. None of them, not even Kenny, could really touch on the subject.

Now, though…

Kenny laughed, a little strained because, well… But he had calmly informed Eric that, “I sure do like it rough, dude, but your mom’s gotten better at getting it just right and I don’t really have to go looking anywhere else anymore.” Then, as a really stupid after thought, he had tacked on. “My dad doesn’t hit me.” Not that he had to justify his father to fucking Eric Cartman. But he felt like it was an important fact to get out in the air.

But the cap that covered Eric’s figurative bottle of shit-talk had successfully been flung across the fucking floor, if the murder in his eyes was any indication to how badly Kenny was fucked. The fact that the bigger boy quipped back, coldly, coolly, with mismatched eyes filled with venom looking to hurt was almost disconcerting. “Saves that all for _your_ mom, then. Am I right?”

It barely scratched the surface for Kenny, but it apparently ran straight through Stan, striking some nerve within the supposed _calm_ one of their rag-tag group.

It had happened so suddenly that Kenny was almost disappointed that it was over before he really got the chance to realize what waa going on. All he really gathered was when Cartman’s back hit the ground so hard that it sounded like the linoleum floor had cracked. The large boy gripping his stomach, and Stan standing over him with his first balled up and pulled back near his navel.

“You need to learn to shut up, man,” Stan said, almost looking like he wanted to help Cartman back up, but also looking like he wanted to kick him, too.

Cartman was trying to catch his breath, as he leveled Stan with a murderous glare, “You asshole!” he growled, making a grab for Stan’s ankle. He was too slow, and the quarterback merely backed out of the way.

The huff of laughter that came from next to him drew Kenny’s attention to Kyle, who looked like he was quite literally, about to combust; the color in his cheeks rivaling his hair.

It almost felt good, having his friends have his back, after all of these years. Even if it was as simple as standing up to Cartman. It was the thought that counted, in any case.

Kenny was used to Cartman’s shit talk. Hell, he was used to the whole fucking town’s shit talk. He’d lived with it since he had conscious memory.

It wasn’t a big deal to him, anymore. What people said, and all that.

For the guys, who both came from well-to-do families – what with Kyle’s dad being the City’s legal council, and even Stan’s crazy ass dad participating in most every town meeting – they didn’t get their families’ shit aired out on a daily basis. Which, Kenny wasn’t jealous of, really. It was just, they _couldn’t_ understand the necessity to let the shit thrown at you just roll off your shoulder. He didn’t blame them for that. But, he did appreciate their effort, all the same.

He might’ve told them as much, but just as he opened his mouth to say so, he heard the slap of shoes coming down the hall.

He had looked up just in time to see the small blond stop short of the scene. “Oh, boy… Jeeze, fellas,” came the nervous squeak of one Leopold “Butters” Stotch. His eyes darting over his shoulder, hallway pass dangling limply by his side, and stack of envelopes sealed and tucked close to his chest with the other arm.

Just as Kenny let out a sigh of relief that it was just Butters (sweet, soft-spoken, polite, never looking to start trouble Butters) did he give in and followed the other boy’s grave gaze down the hallway. 

If the four being in the hall at the same time was a fluke, then it was just down right poor fortune that Butters rounded the corner, Principle PC in tow, tablet held in the crook of his arm, mid-sentence and gaze drifting from Butters, to Stan, who was still stood defensively, to Eric holding back tears on the floor, to Kenny, who had stupidly taken a step towards Stan. Kyle, poor bastard, had almost made it undetected, save for the piss-poor timing of his sneaker squeaking across the floor as he tried to disappear back into the boy’s bathroom.

PC took the boys in one at a time before sighing, heavily. It was Eric who he leveled with the hard stare. “Again, really?” he asked.

He dished them all out a detention slip there on the spot.

Even Kyle wasn’t spared, either due to his association to witnessing the act, or simply association to the group of boys themselves.

And, just like that, Kenny found himself spending his eighteenth birthday with his three oldest friends. In detention, sure. But, honestly, it could have been a worse way to mark his first day as a legal adult.

At least it wasn’t actual jail.

**Author's Note:**

> I watched my first episode of South Park maybe a month ago now? Needless to say, I am in love. As a nineties baby, I hate that it has taken me so long to get into this show...
> 
> Here's my thought process with this: Kenny is just, like, amazing, OK? He's a good kid who had to live under shitty circumstances (barring the immortalities part, simply focusing on his home life). He's a good Big Bro, and I really, really needed something with a heavy emphasis on that. That's what this fic is. It's, first and foremost, a story of siblings and what happens when a child is left to take care of a household, including a younger sibling. 
> 
> Enjoy? Maybe? I didn't wanna write this, but I sure as heck wanted to read it, so... 
> 
> Song recommendations for this chapter: 
> 
> Past Lives - Local Natives  
> Childhood's End - Majical Cloudz  
> Still Trying - Nathaniel Ratliff  
> I wish I was Sober - Frightened Rabbit  
> Drunk Drivers/ Killer Whales - Car Seat Headrest


End file.
